


Like I've Fallen Into A Trance (My Mind Is Clouded With You)

by stereoslash



Category: Produce 101 (TV), UNIQ (Band), UP10TION, X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 04:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20501120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereoslash/pseuds/stereoslash
Summary: Seungyoun realizes, belatedly, that he's been in too deep for more than a decade now.





	Like I've Fallen Into A Trance (My Mind Is Clouded With You)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set several years into the future, and the story itself takes place in an adorable resort called Sinagtala, whose website you can access [here](https://www.sinagtala.ph/). I should really be getting paid for promoting this place. Title taken from X1's "Flash".

It had started pouring by the time Wooseok joined Seungyoun in the veranda, the younger male bearing a small smile and yet another bottle of wine to replace the one that rests empty in Seungyoun’s hold; and Seungyoun welcomes him with a whispered imitation of the cheering crowds that both of them had grown accustomed to — the sound accompanied by muted applause and met with laughter in Wooseok’s part. The others are still safely inside the villa, the sound of Hangyul and Yohan squabbling over some mobile game or other faintly audible whenever Seungyoun cares to listen closely enough (some things, Seungyoun supposed, never truly change despite all the years that pass them by); but Wooseok is silent when he sits across from Seungyoun, silent still as he pours red into his own glass, and Seungyoun lets the stillness stretch between them — familiar and comfortable what with all of the years that they had spent in the other’s presence.

They’re thirty-five now, but a mere glance at Wooseok would never state as much. The years have been kind to both of them, their lives laid bare for all the world to see; and Seungyoun thinks that Wooseok looks the same as he had yesterday, as he had a year ago, and perhaps even on the day that they first stood together on stage as X1 in front of literal _thousands_ — but a lot has happened since then, and not all of those changes are easily observable. Disbandment, Seungyoun finds, didn’t really affect any of them all that much; if anything, Seungyoun thinks that it had only served to bring all of them closer even as they continued to walk down separate paths. August 27 is a date that’s all too special to them now, and it’s a day which the members spend together without fail; the only absences being on account of conscription — and there’s only five of them this year, the five eldest; with the rest of the group still completing their service.

Change is inevitable, but Seungyoun feels a strange sort of pride in being able to catalogue those changes, of having been present for most of them; of having watched his members grow as he grew with them — and he pays no attention to the voice in his mind that remarks how he’s pleased to have seen Wooseok _bloom_. Wooseok looks comfortable, Seungyoun thinks, little legs hanging off of the seat across from his; a sweater that’s much too large hanging loosely from the younger’s frame — and Seungyoun is all too aware of what he’ll find if the fabric slips just the tiniest bit lower, is all too aware of the familiar crescent standing stark against the pale skin of Wooseok’s shoulder; and he’s all too aware of the corresponding rays etched on his own skin. The years had seen many changes in all of them, and perhaps this was one of the biggest changes of all — the single shape inked onto Wooseok’s otherwise unmarred skin, lines of black painted across bare canvas even as Seungyoun’s frame remains littered with them.

They had been drunk then, just a touch more inebriated than they are now, both of them thirty years of age and still fresh from the military; and they hadn’t really found the time to properly catch up before that night — so when they came together once more, match to a flame, they had been a tad too reckless (a tad too honest, a tad too _insane_, and Seungyoun supposed that these are the consequences of being far too used to having Seungwoo nearby to pick up their slack on nights like these). Seungyoun remembers how Wooseok had slurred through wondering what it would feel like to get a tattoo, watched the younger male ponder whether or not it would be something he regrets in the morning; and somehow the alcohol in their systems had spurred them to locate the nearest tattoo artist, the two of them soon sporting matching wounds, matching ink as a result.

“You’ve always shone the brightest,” Seungyoun had said, not meeting Wooseok's eyes as he drew shapes across blank paper for the artist to emulate, “I only shine because of you.”

It’s the most truthful, the most _vulnerable_ he’s ever let himself be in all the years that he’s known the younger man, and Seungyoun is grateful when Wooseok elects not to comment on it; instead proposing that he get the moon and Seungyoun the sun (“Seems a lot more meaningful that way, don’t you think?” Wooseok had said by way of convincing, apparently unaware of the fact that he could very well coax Seungyoun into agreeing with _anything_ that he wishes for), a delicate finger tapping lightly against the illustrations for emphasis — and Seungyoun marveled at how Wooseok always seems to know what he wants, always seems to know what he needs; and Seungyoun wondered then, over the cheap convenience store ramen that they had bought on their way back from the shop, just how much Wooseok knew about the thoughts that were constantly eddying around in his mind.

“You never got married.” It isn’t a question, with Seungyoun simply stating something which they both know to be a fact; and Wooseok nods, peering up at Seungyoun from the rim of his glass as he takes a sip — left hand being raised to showcase digits that remain unadorned; and Seungyoun waits for the other to set his glass back down before plowing on. “I’ve always wondered why.”

“Do I look _lonely_, Cho Seungyoun?” There’s laughter coloring Wooseok’s response, and in the dim light Seungyoun notes that the younger’s eyes are dancing with mirth; Seungyoun shaking his head with a smile before moving to retort that no, Wooseok didn’t appear lonely at all — but Seungyoun recounts how Wooseok had once said that settling down is never truly out of the question, the permanence and the security of it all as comforting as they are daunting, and Wooseok nods as he acknowledges the sentiment.

They had been at Kookheon’s wedding then, just three years prior; and Seungyoun would never forget how _stunning_ Wooseok had looked under twinkling lights, a ring of flowers set atop his head from when some other guest’s niece had begged him to wear it, and there’s a smile playing across Wooseok’s lips as he watches the bride and groom glide across the floor — not too bright, not too wide, but the look on the other’s face is certainly warm enough to cause Seungyoun to pause; and he asks, painfully casual, if marriage is something that Wooseok might find himself considering one day.

“Maybe,” Wooseok had replied with a shrug, eyes still trained on the newly wedded pair even as Seungyoun’s gaze burns onto the side of his face, “I haven’t really had a chance to think about it. I think it would be nice, though — belonging to someone in that way and having them belong to you. Nice and a little terrifying, I guess, because forever feels like a really long time.”

“That shouldn’t matter if you managed to pick the right person, though, should it?” Seungyoun asks, and he finds that it’s his turn to avert his gaze; eyes locked onto the lights hanging above them even as he sees Wooseok staring at him from the corner of his eye — and Seungyoun finds himself smiling at the whispered “I suppose not” that serves as the other’s agreement, the words just a little bit muted, Wooseok’s tone dripping sincerity despite the fact that Seungyoun can almost _hear_ the thoughts raging loudly in his brain; and he reaches out, wrapping an arm around Wooseok’s waist to pull the shorter male to his side, and within moments the other’s stance grows lax.

That same earnestness is present in Wooseok’s voice even now, and Seungyoun finds no traces of the hesitance, of the _anxiety_ that it was once coupled with — Wooseok deftly responding to the question he had posed as he moves to lean back in his seat, knees being hugged close to his chest while his half-emptied glass rests on the table between them; the pattering of raindrops painting the scene laid out before Seungyoun’s eyes all the more soothing. Wooseok seems pensive, Seungyoun observes, and when he attempts to catch the younger’s gaze he finds that Wooseok doesn’t seem to be fully present (no doubt thinking back to the events of all the years that had run past); and Seungyoun can’t exactly fault him for it, having found himself tangled deep in a web of nostalgia ever since they landed in Manila the day before.

“I’m satisfied with the way things are. If someday I get the chance to settle down, then I’ll definitely take it, but right now I’m happy.” Wooseok confides, and Seungyoun doesn’t miss how the other seems to be choosing his words carefully, concluding that Wooseok might still be preoccupied with whichever recollections the younger male has found himself saddled with (alcohol, Seungyoun finds, has the uncanny ability to guide even the shallowest minds into deeper thoughts — and Wooseok’s thoughts have always been deeper than most). “I’m happy to be here with you, Seungwoo, and the two idiots in a villa smack in the middle of nowhere.”

“We’re in Bataan, Seok, and we’re literally staying at a resort. It’s hardly the middle of nowhere.” Seungyoun responds with a laugh, the foreign word feeling twice as strange as it rolls off of his tongue — no doubt from the lack of practice — and the amusement that had spread across his features slips into something more solemn as Wooseok mirrors the query (“What about you? Why didn’t you ever get married?”), Seungyoun struggling to find a safe haven between _saying too much_ and _not saying enough_.

“I’m satisfied with the way things are.” Is what he finally says, shamelessly echoing the younger’s words; and Seungyoun’s unable to stop the way his mouth quirks at the corners the moment his response is met with a roll of the eyes. “I’m happy that I get to be here with you.” He lets the words hang in the space between them, only pausing long enough for one to think that they might _mean_ something, but not so long that the silence draping over them becomes all too heavy — his head soon turning to one side to indicate the glass doors leading back into the villa. “Seungwoo, too, and maybe the two idiots as well.”

The words — lifted directly from Wooseok’s initial response — don’t even begin to scratch the surface, don’t even convey a quarter of what Seungyoun means to say; but Seungyoun doesn’t trust himself enough not to bare too much of his own thoughts, doesn’t trust himself not to tip the delicate balance he had found all those years ago, and so he settles for borrowed words and meaningful pauses that might not even hold any weight to anyone save for himself. Wooseok meets his eyes then, all too observant (all too _knowing_), and Seungyoun finds himself tensing; but Wooseok doesn’t push, no doubt sensing that Seungyoun would rather he left the matter well enough alone, and Seungyoun is struck — not for the first time and most likely not the last — by how well the younger male can gauge his emotions.

“Do you remember Pohang?” Is what Wooseok asks instead, and Seungyoun allows himself to exhale ever so slowly in relief; the shift in discussion enabling him to wade across shallower waters, to speak more comfortably knowing that his words won’t hold too much weight — that when he opens his mouth to respond there wouldn’t be too much at stake.

“I remember.” Comes Seungyoun’s response, because Pohang isn’t something you can just _forget_, the milestone easily as memorable as both their first show and the last; because their first win might as well have been a goddamn lifeboat in the sea of uncertainties that had surrounded their debut — and Seungyoun would never forget how winning had felt like finally being able to come up for air after being underwater for so long.

“Do you, though?” Wooseok’s teasing, but Seungyoun isn’t oblivious to the fact that the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes; and Seungyoun’s an open book (or, at the very least, as open as he could _afford_ to be), brows creasing to express his confusion — and he’s relieved when Wooseok takes that as his cue to elaborate. “We got off the stage, and everyone was huddling together, taking turns hugging each other. I remember how the kids squeezed me so hard that I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t really mind because everyone was so happy. But when I got to you, you just stood there and — stared. And you had this look on your face, just the smallest fucking smile, but I remember thinking that it was the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

Seungyoun _does_ remember, and the memory prompts him to grip the arms of his chair; eyes firmly set on the wooden grain of the table which serves as the only thing standing between him and the goddamn _whirlwind_ that is Kim Wooseok — and Seungyoun had thought that he was safe, that Pohang was a prelude to easier conversations, to being able to spend the night without having to toss and turn as the same thoughts from all the years that had passed continue to plague his mind over and over and over again; but Wooseok has always been a little unpredictable, and Seungyoun supposes that he shouldn’t be too surprised to have the rug pulled from underneath him once more.

Loving Kim Wooseok comes as naturally as breathing, and Seungyoun realizes belatedly that he’s been in too deep for more than a decade now. He remembers how it used to hurt, the pain searing hot and blinding in all the places where their bodies used to meet — an arm on each other’s waist, Wooseok plastered against his side whenever they attended events, even the briefest of hugs following every victory that they had shared all throughout their career — because while Seungyoun may get to touch him like this, it would never be truly enough; would never fill the gap where Wooseok had gripped at Seungyoun’s heart and claimed it as his own. It hurts even now, Seungyoun notes, the pain ever-present; but over the years it had morphed into a dull, familiar ache — because while loving Kim Wooseok feels like a wound that continues to bleed, it’s also the one thing that can make Seungyoun as happy as can be; and he’s more than content to be in Wooseok’s orbit, close but not quite touching, if it means that they could stay forever just like this.

“That’s because I was.” Seungyoun affirms, and his mouth feels like sandpaper when he speaks; but it’s a small victory that he’s able to lift his head high enough to look the younger male in the eye. “Happy, I mean. It was honestly one of the happiest days of my life, but why are we talking about this now?” Seungyoun adds, and even as the words fall from his lips he can’t help but fear whatever it is that might come next, can’t help but fear that Wooseok’s response would force him from the other’s space — never again being able to drift so close, never again being able to reach out in an attempt to touch.

“Because I kept thinking that you were close enough to kiss me — that you looked like you would give _anything_ just to be able to lean the rest of the way in. I’ve always wondered why you didn’t. I’ve always wondered why I didn’t.” Wooseok’s voice is quiet, low enough that Seungyoun has to strain just the slightest bit to be able to hear him over the sound of the rain; and Seungyoun’s grateful for the fact that Wooseok can’t seem to meet his eyes — because the words seem all too surreal, with Seungyoun being far too dazed to process any of the thoughts running riot in his brain; and not even in the most ambitious of his waking dreams could he ever have allowed himself to wish for something such as this.

“I kept wondering about that, too.” Is all Seungyoun manages to say, his heart hammering a mile a minute and threatening to beat right out of his chest; and he recalls the previously forgotten bottle of red, tempted to take a swig just to have _something_ to do — but he’s _frozen_, he soon finds, years upon years of shielding his thoughts from the other’s view crumbling all too quickly in a matter of minutes; but it’s not too late, he thinks, and he kicks his thoughts into gear in an attempt to find a way to salvage the mess he had helped create (anything to keep Wooseok close, anything to make _sure_ that they would be okay again).

“How long did you wonder?” Wooseok asks, driving the final nail into Seungyoun’s coffin — and Seungyoun’s _helpless_, unable to admit that he never truly stopped wondering, that he had never managed to stop even for a second; unable to speak the words into existence for fear of never being able to go back to the way things were before. Wooseok seems to understand his silence anyway, because Wooseok _always_ understands, and Seungyoun feels as if there are some aspects of himself that he would never come to know nearly half as well as Wooseok does — and he watches, at once terrified and transfixed, as the gravity of his admission dawns on the other’s face; and Wooseok seems hesitant, far more uncertain than Seungyoun has ever seen him, delicate hands restless as they clasp and unclasp where they’re locked around Wooseok’s knees.

Seungyoun feels as if he has to wait years upon years for Wooseok’s feet to touch the ground, the younger male moving seemingly in slow motion as he rises from his seat; and it appears as if he takes even longer still as he walks around the table, bridging the gap between their two chairs before finally — _finally_ — drawing to a stop in front of Seungyoun. Wooseok reaches out, slow, tentative; touch feather-light as his palm rests against Seungyoun’s cheek — and Seungyoun’s own hand lifts to wrap around the other’s wrist, holding the younger’s gaze as he gives a slight tug. Wooseok takes the invitation to sit astride his lap, the weight warm, comfortable; and Seungyoun feels as if the Earth had ceased its turning, raindrops suspended in midair — the rest of the world falling away and leaving nothing but Seungyoun, Wooseok, and the warmth that spans between them.

“It’s always been you.” Seungyoun breathes, the words spoken moments before his lips slot against Wooseok’s mouth; and here they are, in a foreign country thousands of miles from Seoul, but Seungyoun has never felt more at home.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/seungseokhq) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/woodz_).


End file.
